


Stone of the Shire

by SpicyReyes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rewrite, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Worldbuilding, orc bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: "If you go back," Eru had told him, "Your memory will be the only thing you have."Perhaps, in hindsight, Bilbo should have asked for clarification.Or: Bilbo gets the chance to fix things, but is given a rather significant disadvantage to get around.Remix of the old fic 'Beauty Within Beast'
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 20
Kudos: 172





	Stone of the Shire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Beauty Within Beast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490942) by [SpicyReyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes). 



> so idk how many of y'all read my hellfic, Beauty Within Beast, but I rewrote it 3 different times and still wasn't happy with it, so this is attempt 4: the total overhaul
> 
> anyway here's roughly what bilbo as an orc looks like (art by me)  
> 

“Goodnight, Frodo.”

Bilbo stepped away as the younger hobbit’s troubled eyes closed for the night, drifting off into the restless facsimile of sleep he reached for every night. 

The pressure in his lungs was growing ever stronger, crawling its way through him, consuming him.

“And goodbye,” he murmured, closing the door.

He made his way out, into the evening air, under the stars. 

Looking up to them, he could almost imagine, for a moment, he was not alone. He could imagine the comforts of company, a group of likewise tortured souls sitting alongside him, staring up into the beauty of the night. 

“I do not know if hobbits and dwarves are destined for the same stars,” he murmured, “but I hope I will see you again, nonetheless.”

He moved slowly forward, seeking out a tree in the garden, sinking down to sit beneath its branches. His aching bones took the relief, letting him stretch out his feet into the flowers that grew over every inch of the ground here, in his sanctuary he’d claimed with Frodo for his final years. 

He reached out, running fingertips over petals.

“I would have liked,” he murmured, “to see the tree I planted in Dale, again.”

Chrysanthemums clustered around in various colors, and he plucked one, bringing it to his face. 

“I would have liked to return to your tomb,” he whispered, speaking to someone who would never hear him. “I would have liked to leave you flowers-...even if you would not like them.”

His throat felt tight, and he could feel his own wet cheeks. The tightness was becoming agony, clawing at his chest from the inside, making him want to rip himself apart to relieve it. 

“What flowers mean regret?” he asked himself, barely a breath. “I’m not sure I remember.”

He pet the petals of his plucked flower. 

“What use am I?” he murmured. “A hobbit, who can’t even....”

His hand squeezed, suddenly, unbidden by him, the stem of the flower snapping to a harsh angle as his hand crushed it. He had no time to feel more than a flicker of guilt before he was slumping forward, pain finally coming to a stop.

It only ended, however, with his life.

  
  
  
  


In one moment, Bilbo had closed his eyes, surrendering to the end - and in the next, he opened them, feeling for once as though nothing at all were wrong.

He raised his head, and found himself in a field. At the edges, there were figures, hiding in the mist, eyes shining as they watched him.

He felt scorned, judged. He wanted to retreat, but he had no place to go. 

Light washed over him, suddenly, and he looked up to see a figure of a beautiful Man before him.

“Bilbo,” the man greeted, voice softly resonating in the valley like the strum of a fiddle-string. “Your trip here has been long and arduous, but I find that the destination is no more restful.”

There was no doubt in Bilbo’s heart - this was Eru, whose fingers weaved the world they tended. 

He didn’t even know how to respond, other than to stare in awe.

Eru gave a kind smile. “I did not intend for you to be made to suffer,” he said. “You have sacrificed so much, endured such trials...only to be barred at the gates of the world that should be your reward.” 

Bilbo dropped his head. “My mistake cost many their lives,” he said. “It is understandable that-...”

“That you mourn the losses that you believe yourself responsible for,” Eru said. “But you had no knowledge of what would happen. If you knew, going in, what your actions would have resulted in, would you have acted differently?”

Bilbo looked up. “Of course,” he said, immediately. “Whatever I had to do-...I would never have given a single life for my mistakes, if I had the knowledge to stop it.” 

“Knowledge is a valuable tool,” Eru said. “The world would need balance, for you to be allowed to know. Everything would be against you, every single factor in the odds would be to your disadvantage. If you had information to use, it would be the  _ only  _ thing you had.”

“I’d have found a way,” Bilbo said, stubbornly. “They shouldn’t- what happened...It was my fault. I would have done anything to see it changed.”

“Then do, Bilbo Baggins,” Eru said. 

Bilbo frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Eru extended a hand to the side, and a loop of light appeared, something shining in its center.

“If you can accept the balance the world will provide,” he said, “I can offer you a chance. One, single chance, with every odd against you- would you take it?”

“I would,” Bilbo said, desperately, taking a step forward. “You would do it? You would let me - let me try again?”

“Only the once,” Eru said. “Whatever fate you end with, in this life, it is final.”

“I’ll do it,” Bilbo said, without hesitation. 

“Are you certain?” Eru asked. “Everything that has passed will be undone. The tragedies, yes, but the good things, all the same.”

“Good things can happen again,” Bilbo said. “But I would have them alive to see them.” 

Eru’s lips curled up in a small smile, and he took a step back, gesturing to the glowing loop, which grew to the size of a door. 

“Then go, Bilbo Baggins,” Eru said. “Be my emissary. Just remember, your memory will be the only tool you have. Everything else will be set against you.”

“I’ll do it,” Bilbo said, determined, looking into the golden light. “Do I just-...?”

“Step through,” Eru instructed.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Bilbo did.

  
  
  
  


His step forward landed his toes in grass, the texture feeling suddenly unfamiliar. 

Curious, he looked down, sucking in a sharp breath at what he saw.

His feet were tiny - at least, by a hobbit’s standards. He imagined they were large for men. His skin, too, had changed, appearing a sickly greenish grey in the dim evening light. 

His soft, worn gardening clothes were gone, as well, replaced with a pair of worn brown trousers tied off below his knees, and a familiar metal shimmer against his chest.

The mithril shirt. Bilbo set his hand against it, feeling the delicate loops of the chainmail. 

His hands were rough looking, it seemed, also. His nails were too long and uneven, and bulkier than before.

_ What is wrong with me?  _

He cast a look around the forest he’d stumbled into, taking in his surroundings. A few feet away, there was a small pond, and he rushed to it, dropping onto his knees at its edge.

He bent over its surface to look, and sucked in a sharp breath.

It was no mirror, and the image was distorted for it, but the face looking back at him was not his own. It had the same shaped eyes, he supposed, perhaps a similar nose or lips, but they were all twisted and distorted, made to fit a new face.

An  _ orcish  _ face. 

He reached out, touching the water’s surface, the ripples breaking up his reflection. When the water calmed, though, the orc was there again, looking up in horror. 

_ Every odd, indeed,  _ he thought. 

The cost of his knowledge, it seemed, was his own body, in its entirety. Even his own  _ race. _

A howl broke the air. Bilbo stood quickly, on his feet in an instant, looking into the woods in every direction.

_ That was a warg,  _ he thought, near certain of it, even after the length of time since he’d last heard one. 

He needed to get free of the trees - or, perhaps, to climb one, as they had when attacked on the cliffside on the journey to Erebor. Higher ground, safely out of reach of any ravenous war beasts.

If they were with riders, though - he would need to hide. They could attack him from any height, if they saw-...

...Saw...an orc?

Bilbo stopped short. 

His face was  _ wrong,  _ but would an orc know that? Would a warg? Or would they disregard him? Consider him an ally, even?

He didn’t have very long to wonder before something struck his side, throwing him hard into the ground. 

“Timorsham!” a growl came from the woods, and a moment later, the weight pinning Bilbo to the dirt was ripped away, leaving him staring up at a furious orc, gripping tight to the neck fur of a large red-brown warg. 

Bilbo could only stare in horror, waiting for the verdict - would the orc see through him?

It seemed the answer was  _ yes  _ \- after only a single second’s hesitation, the orc who’d caught the warg was shoved aside, and another dropped down in front of him, pressing a knife to his throat. 

“Durz!”

The orc holding the knife froze, glaring down at Bilbo, blade digging in against his skin.

When she spoke, there was an odd echo to her voice - he could hear, very clearly, the Black Speech words she was using, but the meanings in Westron were just as clear to him. 

“Azog’s spy,” she snarled. “He followed us from the mountains.”

Bilbo stared. “What? Me?”

She pressed the blade in a bit harder, and he felt it break his skin, felt a few drops of blood wet the space around it. He let out a strangled noise in fear.

“He’s no spy,” another voice said. A moment later, another figure appeared, standing over the other orc’s shoulder.

“He wears armor,” the knife-orc, ‘Durz,’ pointed out. 

“Warmblood armor,” the new orc replied. “And he shows too much fear. He is not Azog’s.” 

“I-...I’m not an ally of Azog’s, no,” Bilbo stuttered out, unsure of how to even  _ begin  _ to handle the situation. “I-..are you not his allies, either, then? You don’t sound very fond of him.” 

Durz’s stern eyebrows raised. “You...do not know of us?” she asked. She jerked her head backward, toward the orc behind her. “Of him?”

“Ah….”

Bilbo looked between them, wondering what the correct answer was.

“You are not Azog’s at all,” the male orc said, crouching down beside Durz, examining Bilbo. “Your skin has gold light to it - you’re from the north.”

“The, ah, the  _ west,  _ more accurately,” Bilbo said.  _ He  _ hadn’t noticed any color to him, but it was rather dark, and he was not well-versed in distinguishing orc features. “Far from here, I’m afraid. Or, I’m sure, anyway- where  _ are  _ we?”

The orc blinked at him. “The woods of Rhudar,” he said. “How did you end up here, if you didn’t know that?” 

“I was, um,” he glanced around - other orcs had appeared, several of them, standing a few feet back from the one speaking. “I was, ah, travelling- with someone. Another person. Many people.”

“Many people?” the orc echoed. 

“Dwarves,” Bilbo added.

The orc sat back, looking somewhere between bewildered and amused. “Dwarves,” he repeated. “You travelled with dwarves?” 

“For a while,” Bilbo said. “But, you see, ah - their leader, um. He tried to kill me.”

“Dwarves are known for killing orcs,” the other said. “This surprises you?”

“Well, they were rather nice, up until that,” Bilbo said. “But, the point is- the point is, their leader told me to get away, and to never come back, or he’d kill me, you see. So I had to leave.”

“And you just wandered?” the orc asked.

He sounded almost...sympathetic.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I’m, ah, I’m not much of a warrior, I’m afraid.”

The orc blinked at him.

“I suppose that’s odd to you,” Bilbo said. “Because- because you’re an orc. And I am. I’m also an orc.”

“That you are,” the orc said, slowly. He reached up, tapping his hand against his own chest. “I’m Burzash, of the Ettenmoors.” He gestured over his shoulders. “My company and I seek Azog the Pale.”

“To join him?” Bilbo asked, stomach sinking. 

“To kill him,” Burzash replied. 

Bilbo huffed out a startled laugh. 

“I’m not joking,” Burzash told him.

“No!” Bilbo said. “No, no, I don’t imagine you are! I just- well, that works out rather well for me, actually. He, ah-...” He shifted in the dirt. “He killed someone, very close to me. If he is killed, then he-...Oh, what year is it?”

“He’s deranged,” the female orc muttered. “We should leave him here.”

“No,” Burzash said, raising a hand to wave her back. To Bilbo, he asked, “Your name?”

“Bilbo,” he replied, without thinking. “Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bilbobags?” Durz echoed.

“Ah, no,” Bilbo said. “It’s- well, for one, it’s two parts-...”

“It’s a Warmblood name,” Burzash said. “You weren’t named by orcs.”

“No,” Bilbo confirmed, because there was really no point in trying to pretend he wasn’t completely clueless. “Hobbits, actually.”

“Hobbits!” an orc behind Burzash cried out, head tipping back as he  _ bellowed  _ with laughter. 

“That oaf is Mokum,” Burzash informed him. “I’m curious how an orc comes to be raised among hobbits, and more so how such a creature ends up travelling with  _ dwarves.”  _

“Well, you know, I’d - ah- I’d be happy to tell you,” Bilbo said. “But I’m afraid I really must be going- there are some people I need to meet, who are in quite a lot of danger, right now, and I’d very much like to keep them safe. If they aren’t already hurt, I mean- I really don’t know when they are, or when I am.”

“Friends of yours?” Burzash asked. “What creatures are they? Elves? Men?”

“More dwarves, actually,” Bilbo said. “Thirteen of them.” 

“Thirteen,” Burzash murmured. “Do you- it isn’t the company of dwarves taking to the dragon’s mountain?”

Bilbo sat up a bit straighter. “They’re on their way there  _ now?”  _

“They should be moving soon,” Burzash said. “Rumors of their quest have crept into many realms - Azog intends to meet them along the path. We came to cut him off.”

“I have to go to them,” Bilbo said. “The mountain- they’re walking into something much worse than they realize.” 

“Worse than a dragon?” Mokum asked, incredulous. 

“There’s a curse on the gold in that mountain,” Bilbo said. “And Azog is hunting them, as well - they’ll get pinned between them.” 

“Well, we’re aiming to take care of the other problem,” Burzash said. “Can’t do much for the gold...But if you want to take Azog out of the picture, you’re welcome to join us.” 

“What?” Durz exclaimed, looking sideways. “Captain, we don’t have-...”

“Can you fight?” Burzash asked.

“...No,” Bilbo admitted. “I have decent aim for throwing things, and I can  _ hold  _ a sword, if I can’t do much else with it. And I’ve always been rather strong. That’s all I have to my name, I’m afraid.”

Burzash reached out, grabbing Bilbo’s wrist, causing him to let out a strangled noise of offense, and held it up in front of him.

“You have strong hands,” the orc leader said. “You can be taught.”

“You would teach me to fight?” Bilbo asked, unsure if he should be happy about it. 

“Sure,” Burzash said. “Another set of hands against an army is always welcome.”

Bilbo blanched. Fighting an  _ army  _ of orcs, with only a handful of allies-...

...But, Thorin had braved a  _ dragon  _ with only thirteen. He’d held himself up in a fortress against four armies with that same handful, even if he  _ was  _ mad at the time. 

There was no homeland at stake, here, but there were  _ lives  _ on the line, people Bilbo loved dearly. 

If he could help…

“I’ll come with you,” Bilbo said. “If I can help, I will.” 

“Excellent,” Burzash said. 

The orc suddenly released the scruff of the reddish warg, and it sprinted forward again, slamming into Bilbo once more.

He had half a second to panic before the warg licked a massive stripe up the side of his face, and flopped down over him. 

“It’s...a puppy,” Bilbo observed, stunned. 

“He thinks he is, anyway,” Burzash said. “Maybe with a rider, he’ll calm down some.” 

Bilbo turned wide eyes on him. “You want me to…?”

“Unless you’d rather  _ run.”  _

Bilbo let out a low, terrified breath.

Every odd against him, indeed. 


End file.
